


Ugly Christmas Jumper Looking for Loving Home

by GizmoTrinket



Series: BBC Sherlock Ficlits Based on OTP Prompts [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Not Canon Compliant, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 22:36:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9145276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GizmoTrinket/pseuds/GizmoTrinket
Summary: Sherlock meets Rosamund for the first time.I know this won't be canon compliant so I'm posting it now. It was supposed to be posted yesterday to be part of the Seasonal F*ing Cheer 2016 Fic-a-thon but I decided to edit it. So, I guess it's part of the It's 2017's New Content Angst Fest before we even get the new content. *shrugs*





	

**Author's Note:**

> #1 You should really take off that seasonal jumper. [ Tumblr Link](http://roquentine19.tumblr.com/post/153761991438/welcome-to-our-seasonal-fucking-cheer-2016) \+ The OTP prompt: #110 You never think about anyone but yourself. [Tumblr Link](http://ourwritingprompts.tumblr.com/post/148103492353/writing-prompt-110)
> 
> I did go and paper edit it on Feb. 2nd but still no beta no britpick so comment with thoughts, suggestions and fixes. Thanks!

"You never think about anyone but yourself."

John had said those words to Sherlock so many times they had nearly lost all meaning. At first it was just minor things like not doing the washing up or shopping. Then it was the experiments. Then it was the passive aggressive date sabotaging. Those words were on constant repeat after Sherlock's suicide. Apparent suicide. Fake suicide. The words were filled with grief instead of irritation. He felt guilty for them occasionally but they numbed the pain. John loved Sherlock. He loved him but Sherlock was incapable of returning the sentiment. Once the shock of seeing Sherlock alive wore off bitterness tainted the words.

The first person to say the words to him in the past decade or so was Mary. John loved Mary. It was different than the way he loved Sherlock. It wasn't as bitter, deep or all consuming. He thought that was better. He didn't have to worry about losing himself. Of being swept up in a tidal wave of someone so fantastic they eclipsed every part of him. He was just plain ordinary John Watson. Dr. Watson. He could be that with Mary. He didn't have to do anything other than dinner and a movie to make her happy. He chose her because he loved her and she was capable of loving him back.

But Mary shot Sherlock.

Then Sherlock shot Magnussen. Sherlock waited until he was sure that John wouldn't be able to take the blame. The consulting detective made sure that there was no way Mycroft could pin it on the doctor. John thought about that moment _more_ than the moment Sherlock took a dive off Bart's. In fact, it put a different perspective on The Fall. It made John less bitter and more depressed. Sherlock wasn't a murderer. He shouldn't have been capable of pulling the trigger. John regretted not listening to Sherlock talk about his adventure- no, trip, no, task- quest.

John shifted Rosamund to his other arm. She wrinkled her nose before settling.

Mary huffed angrily.

John tensed. He was used to people using passive aggressive huffy anger to make him change his mind. He was used to dealing with Sherlock's temper tantrums after all. Mary was not nearly as effective at that form of manipulation as the brunette was. Mostly because whenever Sherlock did it there was a sense of fun, comradely. There was no feeling of deep seated resentment in each glare.

Mary must have been able to read his thoughts. Or maybe she could just tell when he was thinking about Sherlock. It seemed to be the only time John smiled when he wasn't looking at Rosamund anymore.

"John, I-"

John cut her off. "No." He kept his gaze on his daughter to keep his anger in check.

Mary was undeterred. "Sherlock _cannot_ be Ros-"

John interrupted her again. "Of course he can." He kept his tone purposefully light because he knew it irritated her.

"Sherlock is not capable of caring for himself let alone-"

"Sherlock is capable of more than you know." John snapped. Then he winced. He showed weakness and he said Sherlock's name aloud. Both bad things to do.

Mary bared her teeth. John could practically see the demonic energy swirling around her.

Rosamund twitched. She was unsettled. John forced himself to relax. "He killed in cold blood to save us." John made sure that the members of "us" were kept purposefully vague. Honestly, John would have loved to see CAM remove Mary from the realm of the living. Maybe he wouldn't have loved to see Mary dead; but he wouldn't have been overly upset either. But Rosamund was an innocent and John was grateful Sherlock saved her. Even if saving Mary was required to do so. "I thought you'd appreciate that."

Rosamund looked at him reproachfully.

John sighed. Rosamund didn't understand reproach and couldn't see him to express the emotion if she could. He was projecting. "I'm not going to budge on this." John didn't know if he spoke that to Mary in regards to his choice of godfather or to Rosamund on his opinion regarding Mary.

It wouldn't be so bad if Mary would just let them be! John missed his friend. His _best_ friend. And Mary maintained that Sherlock didn't even notice John was gone. But John remembered last time Mary said that John's chair disappeared form the living room. John wondered if his chair (and it was his chair. It didn't matter who bought it, who owned it, even if it were dumped in a skip in a back alley in Russia it would _always_ be John's chair) was still blocking Sherlock's view to the kitchen or if it was wherever Sherlock took it when he thought John wouldn't be back.

"Everyone we know will be there. Imagine how I will feel." Mary abandoned her attempt to sway John through anger and switched to empathy.

That was a much worse tactic. "No one knows you shot him." Mentally John added, 'I think.' He wasn't really sure who all Sherlock told. He knew Mycroft didn't know because if Mycroft knew Mary wouldn't be glaring daggers at him and he wouldn't be holding her daughter, no, _their_ daughter against his chest in case she had real daggers.

"God, John! You know he would be useless at raising a baby! The only reason you're doing this is because you want to punish me."

John rolled his eyes. He knew lanky genius would be less than useless for the first week. After that Sherlock would learn. He'd probably be better at it than John after two. Besides, the reason he chose Sherlock was because John needed someone he trusted. John trusted four people: Molly, Greg, Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock. There was only one person John trusted enough to take care of his daughter and be able to handle the unique challenges of raising an ex-assassin's daughter.

"This is ridiculous! Greg has a gun. I know you don't trust anyone _I_ know but surely a man who works with the police department would be able to protect her. And Greg-"

The look John shot her must have landed because she didn't continue. He flexed his hand.

\-----

Once Rosamund was settled in her cot John settled into bed. Mary was already tucked under the covers and she turned her back to him with a huff. The only reason they were feeling like this was because of their fight. John knew it wouldn't last. They were actually repairing their relationship before John uttered the name that always set Mary off.

He needed to explain his reasoning. "Mary..." John paused to try to gather the words he needed.

"Save it."

John would have loved to, he _hated_ talking. But this was important. It was in Rosamund's best interest. "No, I don't think I've really explained why it has to be him."

"You don't have to."

"Greg won't be able to do everything _he_ can to save her." John went back to name avoidance.

Mary turned back to look into John's eyes. "You didn't read the drive. You don't even know what might be needed."

John frowned, that was true. Maybe it wasn't as bad as he'd imagined. But he couldn't take that chance. Sherlock made a vow and John was sure Sherlock would follow through.

"You're not going to give up on this, are you?"

The blond had made his decision. "No." No matter what happened, no matter what was said, no matter if everyone in the world knew Mary shot Sherlock it didn't matter.

Mary read the answer on John's overly expressive face. "I'm not going to let this ruin our marriage. It's only one ceremony. Nothing will happen to us. It won't be an issue."

John looked up and let out a breath. He was relieved. Still, somehow the victory felt hollow.

"But, God..." She took a deep breath before muttering, "You never think of anyone but yourself." John knew he was meant to hear it because she waited until John's eyes met hers before she continued. "If anything does happen and Sherlock ends up with Rosamund and he takes her to crime scenes I'll make your afterlife _very_ uncomfortable."

John was pretty sure his afterlife would be uncomfortable no matter what horrors Sherlock exposed Rosamund to.

\----

It was Boxing Day when John walked up the steps to 221B. Rosamund had decided halfway through the trip that motion sickness would be the ideal response to riding in the underground. Rosamund didn't normally have motion sickness. The doctor wondered if Mary had somehow trained this behaviour into his daughter because she knew that he couldn't drive the car and wouldn't waste money on a taxi.

John still had a key. He took it from his pocket and spent so much time wondering if he was allowed to use it (and if that would offend anyone if he didn't) that Mrs. Hudson opened the door and jumped back in surprise. John apologized but he didn't know if she heard him because he could only get the words out between her excited exclamations. She was so thrilled to see the baby that he had to remind her that they were standing half-in half-out on the stoop.

As soon as the door shut John was in the process of taking off Rosamund's hat, occasionally wincing at the high pitched sounds women managed to produce whenever a baby was around and they were allowed to coo.

Heavy footfalls thundered down the stairs. "Mrs. Hudson?!" A deep voice bellowed.

John was stunned. Sherlock's voice always managed to be deeper than he remembered and the shout that sounded like an annoyed yell for attention but was actually a concerned question made him feel six years younger. Any thought John might have had, a greeting perhaps, was waylaid when the footfalls stopped and Sherlock could see the cause of commotion.

"John?" Sherlock's face was blank surprise and his voice was weak, as if he didn't believe that John was actually there.

Rosamund decided that sudden silence was uncomfortable and she needed to regain everyone's attention by letting out a single loud wail.

John smiled at Sherlock, then at Sherlock's bewildered expression. He looked like he had never seen an infant before in his life and instead of something new and interesting infants were something new and terrifying. John enjoyed the expression for a moment before responding to his daughter's cry to prevent a second. He took her out of her car seat and paused once he remembered the shoulder he usually held her against had her vomit over it. Before he could readjust Mrs. Hudson took her and swept into 221A.

"John?" Sherlock tried again, approaching slowly now that the infant was removed from the situation. Like a skittish colt.

"Hey." John greeted. He decided to let Sherlock come to him and took the opportunity to remove the dirty coat.

Sherlock walked up to him and paused.

John wondered what deductions were going through Sherlock's brilliant mind. He didn't seem to ever voice them aloud anymore. Sherlock's nose twitched and his expression turned to dismayed horror. The little wrinkle between Sherlock's eyebrows nearly made John laugh.

"What..." Sherlock paused and when John didn't respond he continued. "What are you _wearing_?!"

John had chosen this particular Christmas jumper (horrible by even John's standards) because he knew Sherlock would react to it. John had a whole bit worked out. But, as he looked at his friend noticing new lines, signs of time passing, he forgot the next part. Sherlock's face had gone from dismayed horror to stunned disgust. Sherlock's mouth had fallen open and he physically recoiled when he realized John was wearing the jumper _on purpose_. John met Sherlock's eyes and a little giggle slipped out. John was pretty sure Sherlock's laugh was in response to John's giggle and not because he understood the joke. Somehow that was funnier and soon they were both leaning against the wall trying to catch their breath for fits of laughter.

"John?" Sherlock finally asked once their eyes had met one too many times.

John tilted his head to 221A. "I want you to meet someone, Sherlock."

Mrs. Hudson must have been standing on the other side of her door, listening to them because she brought Rosamund to them before they'd moved.

" _Why_?"

John twitched and tired to cover it by taking his daughter from his ex-landlady. "What do you mean, why?"

Sherlock paused, his brows twisted and mouth twitching minutely.

The lightness in John's chest was replaced with lead. He realized Sherlock had never expected to meet the blond's daughter. Maybe, a little after the birth announcement, after the house settled into a routine with their newest member. After so long Sherlock must have thought that John hadn't contacted him because he didn't want them to meet. (There was a little bit of drama after a pile of photos of headless nuns were discovered stuffed under a mattress.)

"Sherl-" John whispered. He realized Sherlock wouldn't respond well to an outpouring of sentiment and stopped before changing gears. "Sherlock Holmes meet Rosamund Watson. Ro-"

Rosamund decided to let out a cry and John instinctively put her over his shoulder. Patting her back to soothe her. John wasn't perfectly acquainted to all of Rosamunds's cries yet but he was pretty sure-

"Blurghhhhhhh."

John felt wetness seep down the back of the jumper. Well, apparently that wasn't an 'I need affection' cry it was an 'I need to burp' cry.

"Hmmm..." Sherlock let out a hum of approval and started to interact with the tiny being in John's arms.

"She has your nose." Sherlock sounded surprised.

"Poor thing." John murmured. Mary's nose was much nicer.

Sherlock looked at John like he was mad before physically waving the distraction over his shoulder.

"You want to hold her?"

John was wrong. Sherlock was looking at John like he was mad now. Before it was his 'what goes through your funny little brain?' look. "I need to make her a bottle. She'll be hungry soon."

"I..." Sherlock looked around but Mrs. Hudson was missing.

"You'll need to get used to it."

"John?"

The shorter man didn't know how much Sherlock knew about baptisms and social structures. He had yet to find any rhyme or reason to Sherlock's knowledge base. Although, John knew that Sherlock knew about teddy bears in the garden. So he knew the rhyme?

"John."

Right. John realized he was already thinking about writing up this meeting. This wasn't a case! God, he didn't realize he missed his friend so much. He shook himself. "It's going to be awkward being her Godfather if you're too scared to touch her."

John wasn't surprised that approach broke his friend. And since it was the second time Sherlock had retreated to his mind palace when asked to take part in a social function John wasn't alarmed. "Mrs. Hudson?"

She appeared out of whatever corner she was watching from. "Oh, dear."

"Yeah, I don't think he expected that." John agreed.

"No, no, of course not. He'll be fine." She said dismissively. But she started fidgeting anxiously while looking at him.

John looked at Rosamund. Was she ok?

Rosamund was fast asleep in his arms. A small spit bubble filling with her breath every exhale and shrinking on every inhale. It was literally disgustingly adorable.

"What?" He asked.

Mrs. Hudson shifted uncomfortable and fiddled with her necklace. "Well... It's just..." She reached for the sleeping baby and John handed her over, alarmed now.

"What?" John demanded once she was settled.

"You should really take off that..." Her mouth twitched. "Ah... _seasonal_ jumper."

John broke into a grin when he realized she couldn't was having trouble not insulting the hideous thing. He removed it and they traded bundles.

"I don't think it can be cleaned." declared Mrs. Hudson and she vanished into her flat with it.

John waited a moment then giggled. She was trying to spare him and it was adorable. John knew because he was well versed in cleaning baby vomit at this point.

Sherlock shuddered back into his transport. "John?"

"Relax, Mrs. Hudson binned it." John explained.

Sherlock looked perplexed for a moment and John wondered what Sherlock had actually asked. Clearly it wasn't, 'Where'd the jumper of horrors disappear to?'

Since Sherlock didn't say anything John offered, "Ready to try holding her?" John knew that no one was ever _actually_ ready to try to hold a baby for the first time. Those that thought they were weren't because they didn't understand the gravity of the situation and those that thought they weren't weren't because they understood the gravity of the situation. John had found that if you just passed the parcel over like the other person had no choice they'd react instinctively.

When Sherlock realized John was giving him no choice he took her awkwardly. John made a few adjustments before letting go and although there was a lot of trepidation on Sherlock's face he brought her close to his chest gracefully.

She didn't even seem to notice the transfer.

After the shock of holding a tiny human wore off Sherlock coddled her naturally and actually cooed before he remembered he had an audience. Then the awkwardness returned.

"She'll need to eat." Mary had fed her before they left but Rosamund relocated most of it to her father's shoulder.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose and John guessed 221B was uninhabitable again. Mrs. Hudson must have been on a cleaning strike.

"C'mon in dears, she'll get cold staying by the door like that all night." Mrs. Hudson's voice called through her open door.

John picked up the diaper bag and the car seat and forced Sherlock to follow him while holding Rosamund.

\----

"I see it went well." Mary said when father and daughter returned that night.

"Of course it did." John replied.

Mary's eyes softened and she shook her head. She retrieved Rosamund and went to settle her in her cot with an air of complete peace and serenity. Mary might have even been happy.

John frowned and wondered why it felt like she just got her way.

\----

\--

\----

"Godfather? _Really?_ " The nice detective inspector asked. No, he was promoted, wasn't he? Mrs. Hudson didn't remember and was too embarrassed to ask.

She fiddled with her jewellery and nodded.

"He ok?"

Mrs. Hudson pursed her lips and looked at him. He knew the answer to that.

He sighed. "I'll find something."

"Talk to Molly if there aren't any nice murders, ok? Maybe she can get him that brain he wants."

He looked askance at her and Mrs. Hudson chuckled internally. They said their goodbyes and she made her way upstairs. The chuckles caused by surprising the attractive man yet again after all these years died when she settled a cup of tea next to Sherlock, clinking the spoon against a beaker to get his attention.

He startled out of his mind palace and looked at her. Blinking twice in mute request.

"Your detective friend was here." Before he could get too mortified she continued. "I stopped him at the front door. Told him to only come back when he had good murder."

Sherlock physically drooped when the tension released. Then he recovered himself. "Good." He frowned. "I'm glad someone around here appreciates not wasting my time with nonsense."

"Of course." Mrs. Hudson smiled. He tried so hard, but it wasn't a proper thank you and he knew it. "But, dear..."

He tensed up again.

"You should really take off that seasonal jumper." She made sure she was half out the door and her back turned when she said that last bit. She would hate to see his reaction. Hopefully his adopted father or sister would have something soon. A mother could only do so much.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be fluff!! *Sighs.* Sorry all, I did try to warn you.


End file.
